


Every Rose Has Its Thorns

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Passion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon has disappeared after a difficult mission. He needs time to make some difficult decisions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Stings song/you-tube video "Desert Rose"

  
  
  
  
  
He first saw her in the busy bazaar at Sidi Ferruch, the Algerian town where he’d sequestered himself from the world while on his extended vacation.

After recuperating from serious injuries received during his last assignment,  he decided to use some of his time off that had been building up; feeling the need to get away from the real world to relax and get his head on straight.

He’d been hurt just as seriously on missions before this, but something clicked inside him, something felt broken...not in the physical sense but within his soul.

The smell of spices and foods called to his senses as he spied an exotic woman wandering along the colorful stalls, filled with a myriad of goods being offered for sale by the vendors; anything from silks to fruit, candied dates, wine and pottery... just to name a few.

She was flanked by two men dressed in beige linen suits, their eyes shaded by sunglasses; modern clothing that was a stark contrast to the woman they seemed to be guarding.

Clothed in richly embroidered black robes; her head and face were covered by fold upon fold of a red veil, leaving only her eyes visible.

 

He watched as her dark eyes darted around; catching the light….were they brown , hazel or blue-grey; he couldn’t tell as they seemed to shift color with her every move.

For one brief moment Napoleon Solo’s eyes met those of this mysterious woman..

He was instantly taken with her, and tried following her and her entourage through the crowded streets; but they disappeared...much to the American’s disappointment.

Days later, Solo strolled along the nearby beach of Zeralda, with it’s finely groomed sands. He was alone on the three mile strand and walked shoeless with the legs of his trousers rolled up, letting the waves wash gently over his feet..

He turned, watching his footprints disappear in the surf as if he’d never been there. To be invisible, with no pressures put upon him, that was what he wanted at the moment, and nothing more.

Napoleon’s mind wandered…daydreaming of rain, gardens in the desert sand, and thoughts of love ran through his head like grains of sand though his fingers.  He felt lonely but very much at peace... this place had cast a spell over the U.N.C.L.E. agent like no other.

 

The sound of the waves, the occasional gull calling from the sky made him sigh, filling Napoleon with of contentment but thoughts of the woman at the bazaar still drifted through his mind. Picturing her; her veils offered a secret promise. She was a desert flower but no sweet perfume from such a bloom ever tortured him more than this woman.  He tried to find her, almost obsessively, but to no avail.

It was then he saw someone approaching, mounted on a spirited black horse...a magnificent stallion galloping along the strand and it’s rider heading straight towards the American.

It was a dark haired woman wearing billowing hot pink robes that waved in the salt air breeze; she wore nothing to cover her face and head.

She reined the horse to a stop, looking down at Solo, and instantly Napoleon knew it was ‘her’...the exotic eyes were the same, and she was as beautiful as he’d imagined she was under her veil.

“Bonjour,” he smiled, speaking French to her as his Algerian Arabic left something to be desired.

Suddenly his dreams became tied to that tireless horse and it’s rider with the flames of desire rising within him.

“I know you,” she spoke,” you were staring at me while at the bazaar in Sidi Ferruch.”

Her voice was soft and alluring.

Napoleon blushed slightly at having been caught.

“Yes, I found your beauty... intoxicating,” he countered.

“How could you? I was veiled.”

“A man knows,” he flashed his most charming smile.

 

The hot desert air was held at bay as Napoleon lounged in a sumptuous bed of silks and pillows. The room was lined with intricately colored tile walls and dark stone floors, keeping it cool while the heat of the day baked the outside world.

Solo had been with her for a week now, relaxing, eating, sleeping and constantly making love.  His chin was covered with a light beard and, though he tried to shave thinking it was harsh against her skin; Saniyya told him no.  She liked it.

He could lose himself here in this place, in the solitude and with this woman; thinking it was time to let someone else save the world.  He hardly thought about his partner at all and had ignored the chirping of his communicator.

Napoleon closed his eyes, taking in the perfumed air as sweetly exhilarating as Saniyyah’s love.

_“Aman aman aman, Omry feek antia, Ma ghair antia, Ma ghair antia, Aman aman aman (My life is for you, And no one other than you, And no one other than you)_

She sang to him in Arabic as they had made frenzied love again and again, like a wild stallion and his mare. Though Napoleon didn’t understand the words, the emotion and intent behind them was clear.

He leaned on his hand, watching _Saniyya_ as she stood near the door to her balcony; the sheer red curtains fluttering in the breeze as was her pale white gossamer robe; her curvaceous body silhouetted beneath it from the light that filtered in through the doorway.

“Someone comes beloved,” Saniyya spoke, holding back the curtains, and peering out as the heat of the desert sand made the image shimmer in the distance.

A rider approached, mounted on a magnificent white horse, wearing a black bisht that flew in the wind, covering his traditional white thawb dishdasha robe beneath it. On his head was a red and white keffiyeh, banded with a golden agal to hold it in place.

He reined in the horse, dismounted, being met by the steward and guards upon entering the dusty courtyard.The surrounding balustrade and walls were whitewashed and the air was filled with the fragrance of thick velvety red roses that climbed up trellises lining the protective walls surrounding them along with small palm trees.

Rose fragrance was strongest on warm day such as this, with the soil being kept moist by servants. because that was when the production of the scent ingredients increased.  Often, a rose that was fragrant in the morning was no longer so by late afternoon.

 _“As-salaam'alaykum,”_ he greeted in Arabic. “ I seek your mistress. I have been told she has a great line of Arabian horses and I am interested in purchasing a breeding mare and stallion.”

“Get out of here son of a dog,” one of the guards shouted. “The mistress does not deal with just anyone.” He raised a familiar looking rifle with a red scope and aimed it at the stranger.

“Stop Walid,” Saniyya called, as she walked out into the courtyard through a grand arched doorway. She was fully clothed in sumptuous golden robes now with her face veiled and head covered with a delicate green scarf.

“This is not how we treat guests. He is welcome,” the mistress spoke. “Come sir break bread with me and cleanse yourself of the desert.”

The visitor greeted her silently, touching his hand to his breast, lips and forehead, simply bowing to her as it was considered rude for a man and  a woman to greet each other in public.

“ _Marhaban”_ she welcomed him once inside, replying with a graceful nod of her head, while taking careful note of his eyes that were the color of the sky.

“ My name is Saniyya and welcome to my home.”

“I am Chorfa Ilyas el-Kader. Blessings be upon you, and this house.”

The visitor was seen inside and taken to a guest room where he could freshen up.

El-Kader removed his keffiyeh head scarf,  running his fingers through his blond hair as he pulled his communicator, this time not to make a call but to check the tracker. The blip coming from the homing device was steady and strong, indicating Solo was nearby.

Illya Kuryakin had been trying to contact his partner for nearly two weeks, but Napoleon had gone off the grid;  sending up a red flag to the Russian, especially after there had been intelligence received that there was going to be a T.H.R.U.S.H. attempt on the American’s life, but by whom specifically, Illya did not know. Solo was out of the loop and had to be warned. Illya’s search brought him to the lavish home of a woman simply known as Saniyya.  She was famed in the area for her horses, specifically purebred Arabians.

He thought it best not to just barge in on Napoleon’s privacy per se and the Russian came up with an elaborate cover story to gain him entrance. Once there he could find his partner and warn him before it was too late and get him back to New York.

He rinsed his face and hands in a wash basin of rose scented water that had been provided for him, and cleaned away the sands of the desert from his clothing; changing to a flowing white cotton bisht and a pure white keffiyeh, still using the gold agal.  These were the robes signifying one of a noble born position. His title of _Chofra_ was the equivalent of Sharif used other Arab nations, but it was local to Algeria.

As always, Kuryakin had done his homework well...

His cover was rather intricate and indicated he was a descendant of Emir Abdelkader El Djezairi, was an Algerian Islamic scholar and military leader who led a struggle against the French colonial invasion in the mid-19th century. Purported to be descended from the prophet Mohammed.

Illya memorized his ancestor’s full family lineage... _A_ _bd el-Kader ibn (son of)  Muhyiddin, ibn Mustafa , ibn Muhammad, ibn Ahmed, ibn Muhammad, ibn Abdel-Kaoui, ibn Ali, ibn Ahmed, ibn Khaled, ibn Yussef, ibn Ahmed, ibn Bachar, ibn Muhammad, ibn Massoud, ibn Taous, ibn Yacoub, ibn Abdelkaoui, ibn Ahmed, ibn Muhammad, ibn Idriss II, ibn Idriss I, ibn Abdallah El Kamel, ibn Hassan el-Muthana, ibn Hassan Essabt, ibn Ali_.

He was well prepared if questioned and would say he was of the Idrisid dynasty, who live in the central area of Algeria, in the regions known as _El Golea_ and _El Oued_.

These were the _fellahin_ who led a more settled life on the northern edge of the Sahara Desert, and were famed as horse breeders.

The excuse for his blue eyes and hair color was that his mother had been French…that was the simplest lie of all.

There was a knock at his door and the Russian was escorted to a dining area, where he greeted the Lady Saniyya properly this time.

 _“As-salaam'alaykum (peace be unto you),_ ” he bowed again, this time it was appropriate to greet her.

 _"Wa-Alaikum-Salaam ( and peace unto you),_ ” she responded.

Napoleon rose from his seat at the low table as introductions were made.

“This is Monsieur Solo, my guest.”

“Napoleon this is noble born Ilyas el-Kader. He is here to discuss the purchase of horses from me.”

“Bonjour Chofra el-Kader,” Solo greeted his partner, not giving an inkling of familiarity.

Bonjour Monsieur Solo….Napoleon is not the most auspicious name to have in this part of the world,” Illya smiled alluding to the on-going French occupation of Algeria that had begun with the invasion of L'Empereur Napoleon so long ago.

“So I have been told,” Solo nodded carefully.

“Please gentlemen be seated,” Saniyya said. She clapped her hands together, signalling for her servant to pour them glasses glasses of green tea with mint leaves. Considered traditionally a man's affair; it was served to guests, and considered impolite to refuse it.

“If you will excuse me, I will see to our meals,” she disappeared from the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Napoleon practically snarled at his partner’s intrusion.

“You have not been answering your communicator and since there was important news to tell you; Mister Waverly instructed me to find you a.s.a.p.”

“And what’s so important that you had to disturb my...vacation?”

“Napoleon, intelligence was received indicating there was going to be an assassination attempt on your life. Your position as CEA has pushed you farther up our feathered friends hit list.”  
  
“No one knows where I am...even you had to track me down. I’ve been safe here, and happy. I’ve actually been thinking of quitting the Command and staying...starting a new life.”

“Do not be ridiculous, you could never do that. U.N.C.L.E. is in your blood.” Though his partner’s declaration was disconcerting, Illya’s face remained emotionless.

“Stop being such a know-it-all tovarisch. I’m serious.”

“As am I. Waverly wants me to bring you back to New York.”

 

“Quel dommage? (such a pity) Saniyya interrupted their conversation, speaking in French.

“So you are not who you say you are Chofra el-Kader...or should I say Kuryakin, I presume...Napoleon’s insufferable Russian partner.” She was holding a pistol aimed directly at them.

“Raise your hands above your heads gentlemen, if you would be so kind?”

She watched as they carefully obeyed her instructions.

“Such a shame, Napoleon. We were good together, though I would have tired of you soon enough.”

The look on Solo’s face was one of complete devastation.  “I thought you loved me?”

“Come now, I was merely acting the part of the cat playing with it’s food,” she laughed at him. “I am shocked at one such as you, the master spy, could have been so gullible and naive. “

“We’re all only human,” Napoleon replied.

“And now I will kill two for the price of one. That will please Central to no end. The team of Solo and Kuryakin will no longer be able to thwart the plans of T.H.R.U.S.H. So Goodbye Napoleon Solo...I have to admit it was fun while it lasted. You will die with your reputation as a legendary lover remaining intact, that I will promise you.”

Saniyya cocked the gun but just as she prepared to fire, Illya hurtled his throwing knife at her in one swift motion, piercing her heart and killing her instantly.

Napoleon rushed to her side, cradling her body in his arms.

“You cold hearted bastard….you didn’t have to kill her,” he snarled at the Russian.

Illya ignored his anger.” I am sorry my friend, if it comes to either us being killed or someone else dying instead... my decision will _always_ be in our favor.”

Solo openly wept;  in shock at not only her death but Saniyya’s betrayal. His lust, his desire for an existence free of worry and pain made him careless...letting down his guard.

“She was a like desert rose, a rare blossom and I loved her. How could I have been so blind?”

“Napoleon, she may have been a rose but remember every rose has its thorns and in this case they were quite deadly. Come my friend, we need to go home. You will feel better in time.”

  
“Will I?” Solo slowly rose, following his partner out the door and not looking back...


End file.
